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letternotekisses · 1 month ago

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overwatch men react to you doing the ‘fake bj prank’ 🫦

Reinhardt pulls an almost adorably curious face when you suddenly drop to your knees in front of him, his mouth open in a small ‘o’ that soon turns into an excited grin once he catches sight of you tying up your hair. His hand instinctively comes to his belt - his cock growing stiff and heavy within moments, although his joy deflates almost instantaneously when you stand back up after ‘finding’ your ‘lost’ hairpin. He covers himself with a nearby sofa cushion and waves you off when you giggle and ask why he’s blushing.

Cassidy immediately gets comfortable, he knows the drill. Stubs out his cigar as quick as a flash and all but slams his Peacekeeper on the table beside him. It’s only when he realises you’re actually reaching for something you’d ��dropped’ on the floor and not ripping his belt off wildly with your teeth does he stand there like an absolute melon. Don’t even ask him about it because he’ll simply lower his hat in shame and mourn over the loss of his cigar. That was Cuban. But you both know he’d forgo many more just for the chance of your perfect lips around his thick cock.

Genji is actually surprisingly hard to prank. If you try to ‘drop’ something or go to pick something up directly in front of him he’s much too quick to do it for you. Always the gentleman, but it grew almost annoying being unknowingly outsmarted by him every time. You had to get real creative with it - kneeling low and close to fiddle with the loops of his trousers gets him spluttering and looking around wildly for someone in the halls, before you pat his thigh and rise with a smile, claiming the new belt you’d got him looks so nice on. He’s adorably confused for a minute, before he mentally vowed to get you back. Although, you fear he may not get the point of the prank because you definitely had the best orgasm of your life after he was done with you. Sigh it’s the little things.

Hanzo raises a brow to you when you slide smoothly to your knees, your hands bundling your hair up until it’s tied back neatly. His back is stiffening the moment any part of you grazes his thigh and he instinctively reaches out to smooth the stray hair that escaped your grasp, the other hand settling upon the button of his waistcoat until…you’re giggling? And he sits back with a small embarrassed huff at his eagerness, a blush settling high on his sharp cheekbones. You pepper kisses all over his face to make it up to him and his fickle pride, which only makes him flush darker. He won’t stay mad for long, but similar to his brother - he’ll plan on getting even. Usually in the form of overstimulating you until you’re teary-eyed and whining or not letting you cum at all :-)

Junkrat is tittering with excitement the moment you walk into the room, let alone your little prank. As soon as you even try to get near him he’s jumping your bones and growling some nasty shit in your ear - you should have known that his insatiable nature would interfere with this. Oh well, might as well indulge him, hm? You don’t even get your dues either - as he’s too busy shimmying your trousers down your hips so he can get his daily taste of that pretty little cunt you were hiding away from him for so long.

Reaper is…not really the type of man you’d like to prank, but who says you’re any type of normal. It’s why he likes you. He won’t even let you finish your little prank because he knew what you were playing at from the start. He thumbs your head with his clawed gauntlet, a growling laugh low in his chest as his heavy cock rests on your face, pulsing hotly against your skin. Hey - you got yourself into this, but service him well enough and he’ll let you cum this time. Maybe? Who knows. He did like your attempt though! You should try and prank him more often if this is the outcome.

Lucio almost has a heart attack when you get to your knees - he had a concert due in ten minutes! But his cock betrays his best interest when it twitches to life and with ashamed (but not rly) delight he goes to fiddle with his trousers only to find…you were licking your thumb and wiping a smudge off of him. The poor guy actually almost beats himself up about assuming what you’re down there for until you explain to him with little giggles between kisses. You have a little something planned after his concert to cheer him up anyways.

Baptiste is like the largest gentleman at heart, so when you even dare squat down to even try and prank him he’s manhandling you so he can eat your pussy first. It gets weirdly competitive when you try to insist on it (so you can perform your epic awesome prank) so now you’re just 69ing. Wrong method right execution? You can’t really find yourself too bothered with Baptiste’s talented tongue deep in your cunt and his cock buried down your throat. Later, maybe. A man who insists his woman cums comes first is a man. Period.

Lifeweaver is too sweet about it to the point it might rot your fucking teeth out. It almost pains you to prank him because you just wanna suck the soul out of him through his dick. He doesn’t even blink when you’re ducking between his legs, or dropping things on purpose because he’ll just fucking help you pick them up. It’s almost infuriating so you instead take your frustrations out on actually blowing him instead. Niran palms your cheek with hands softer than aloe, his cock bulging your cheek as you swallow him deeper. Curse him and his magical body. You just wanna lick him all over.

Sigma is an intelligent man. You know it, he knows it, the ants on the ceiling probably fucking know it. That being said - he was convinced he’d memorised all of your mannerisms completely. So when he pushed back from his desk to greet you and you immediately dropped to your knees, bundling your hair up, he was happy to make quick work of his slacks. He is both humbled and down-crested to find it was a prank. He bundles you into his lap, murmuring nothings to you in Dutch. It’s enough to convince you to make it up to him - to warm his long cock with your perfect cunt while he works. Perfect. Try not to squirm…too much.

Roadhog yeah that ain’t gonna work on him. Not only does he have a sixth sense for when you (or Rat) are up to mischief, he also knows that you know he much prefers your sweet little pussy to your mouth. He thinks it’s worthy of a little punishment. Nothing too big, just something to keep you walking funny for a few days. (Good luck.)

Ramattra is very much accustomed to your human oddities by now, he’s grown tolerant of you (dare I say fond) enough to be unbothered by whatever you do. Treat him like a giant climbing frame for all he cares, you couldn’t make a dent. He knows exactly what you’re up to, and only when you’re whining for a scrap of his attention does he give it to you. Poor, sweet little human, begging for him? He’ll give you exactly what you crave, but you must remember that you asked for this when the silicone of his cock is buried impossibly deep in your tiny cunt, his cold, metal fingers splayed across the small of your back as he tuts down at you. Squirm all you want, Ramattra insists on taking his time with you.

Mauga won’t let you get off that easy either. He watches you go down with a grin that could rival the sharks back at Samoa. Watching you come back up has that smile dropping and an almost evilly mischievous glint appear in his eyes that has your panties just a tiny bit wet. In retrospect it was a good idea to prank him. In truth, when he has his fat, veiny cock buried down your throat and his meaty fingers deep inside of your cunt? It was a great idea. 10/10. In fact you should do it again.

Doomfist knows something is up the moment you tie your hair up because usually he just holds it back for you while he fucks your fac—oh. He quirks a brow at your giggles, but it’s not long until you’re quickly silenced. He soon has you riding his thigh with an intense desperation in your eyes as he thumbs your lip, cooing mockingly at the wet spot on his expensive suit trousers from where he’d kept you there so long. You cum when he thinks you’ve made it up to him, which might be a while, considering how much Akande seemed to be enjoying it, his chest reverberating with every pleased rumble. You’d think twice again next time about pranking the leader of Talon. (Probably…not.)

Also, PSA, if you don’t like my work, block me! Please don’t be negative and leave hate where it’s not needed.

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pogona · 1 year ago

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#roadrat #junkrat #roadhog #overwatch #smut #nsft

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froggibus · 5 months ago

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Mako Voorhees - Roadhog

Pairing: slasher! Mako Rutledge x gn! reader

Genre: angst?

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: your summer job at Camp Crystal Lake takes a dark turn when the camp security officer snaps

CW: semi au, Camp Crystal Lake exists in the OW universe, slasher! Roadhog, murder, violence, blood, fear, general horror things, not proofread

hey hey!! this is based on this wonderful art by @jamiesmeatshop !! slasher aus are very close to my heart but i hardly write them :,) i very very much wanted to turn this into smut but I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfy with that ! hopefully this isn’t too weird ^^ also just lmk if you don't like this & i can untag you/take it down!

Lightning cracks across the night sky, illuminating the dark rain clouds overhead and splitting them open. Thunder roars and then the rain starts, torrential and cold.

You wrap your arms around yourself, rushing down the path as it turns to mud beneath your sneakers. The rubber soles of your shoes slip-slide, threatening to send you careening face first at any moment, but you don’t stop.

The second one of the old, beaten cabins comes into sight, you’re ducking inside and slamming the door behind you. Your hands tremble as you force the lock shut, letting your back rest against it while you catch your breaths.

Your head spins, thoughts flying so fast it’s dizzying. One minute, everything was fine, and the next, you were finding one of the other counsellors nailed to the bathroom door with an axe.

Lightning crackles once more and you’re suddenly acutely aware of an approaching shadow. You scramble to your feet, awkwardly stumbling to a small gap between a bunk bed and the wall. You just barely manage to squeeze in, the wood scratching your back as you slide down the wall.

God, you should have never taken this job. It was meant to be easy money for the summer—all you had to do was watch a few kids, run some activities, do a couple chores. You never would have expected for it to turn so sour, so vile.

You’d heard the rumours long before coming here. The irradiated grounds of Camp Crystal Lake had been a bloodbath long before the Omnic Crisis—with stories of missing campers and brutal murders. It was all chalked up to folklore, though, silly stories locals told to deter businessmen from reopening the camps.

If only someone had listened.

The ground rumbles, the sky lights up once more with another bitter streak of light, and suddenly the shadow is right outside the door. Looming is the only word that comes to mind. The shadow is looming and you’re well aware that the person to whom the shadow belongs must be equally as large.

You swallow, all of the breath leaving your body at the first sound of someone trying to break down the door. You shrink further into your hiding spot, praying to any god that will listen that no one will find you here.

The old wood of the door whines as it’s hit harshly once more, the rusty lock clicking in warning. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself as another hit lands. Then another, then another—and suddenly the door is bursting open, crashing to the floor in a mess of splinters.

The floor shakes with heavy bootsteps. Loud, breathless pants fill your ears, echoing off the walls as if it’s taunting you. Your fists clench and you dig your nails into your palms as hard as you can. Pleasedontfindmepleasedontfindmepl—

There’s a loud, gritty laugh. A familiar loud, gritty laugh that has your blood running as cold as the rain outside. The footsteps get closer, his shadow casting across the wall.

You force your eyes open and squint into the darkness, clamping both hands over your mouth when you see the machete in his hand.

One more step and another lightning strike and suddenly the face of your attacker is revealed. Covered in blood, dishevelled and muddy and heaving, is Mako. Though he’s tried to cover his face with a hockey mask, it’s unmistakably him.

You’re almost grateful for the paralysis your fear has granted you, if only because it’s frozen the tears in your eyes. Not him, anyone but him.

He lets his machete drop to the floor, the metal screeching against the wood as he drags closer and closer to you. You try to press yourself further into the wall only to find there’s nowhere to go. You’re stuck.

Fear and anger and fucking disappointment burn in your chest, the roar of it all drowning out the sounds of his approach. Mako was supposed to be the camp security guard, the person to turn to when you heard strange noises in the dead of night, but first and foremost, he was also supposed to be your friend.

A shiver runs up your spine when he stops directly in front of you, his eyes scanning the room. You squeeze your eyes shut once more—as if that will keep him from seeing you—and try to still the heavy breaths in your chest.

He steps forwards, continuing on his path, and for a second, you think you’re in the clear. A shaky exhale leaves your lips.

And then he’s spinning around, his eyes falling on you. A dark laugh fills the room, that deep chuckle you once thought endearing making your blood run cold. You can’t see his face behind the mask, but you can almost see the twisted smile on his face.

“Found you.”

Despite your wishes, your whole body trembles. Every muscle in your body cowers before him, surrendering you before you’ve even gotten a chance to fight. Your lungs greedily gulp in air, the inhales and exhales only seconds apart.

You have no choice but to watch when he takes a booming step towards you. His grip on the machete in his hands loosens and you wait for him to lash out, to strike. And then he does something that surprises you even more—he drops it.

Your brows knit together in confusion and for that second and that second only, your breathing evens out. Your eyes stay locked to him, tracing every flex of his muscles as he keeps coming toward you.

“What’s wrong, little mouse?”

It’s impossible to tell if he’s taunting you or not, the gravelly tone of his voice almost drowned out by the thunderous roar of the rain outside. You press your lips together in a tight line.

He stops a few feet away. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

An easy breath leaves your body when you realize he’s being serious, a glimpse of the old Mako behind the mask. One of his large hands reaches up and tugs the mask up, letting it rest on the top of his head.

Blood splatters his face in the pattern of the holes on the mask, like the wickedest polka dots you’ve ever seen. You swallow hard at the sight, your stomach churning in response to the blood that you know belonged to counsellors just like you.

“I—I don’t believe you,” your voice is meek.

He only smiles at that, reaching out a hand towards his machete. He picks it up slowly and you cringe, bracing yourself to meet a horrible demise.

“You don’t have to,” he says nonchalantly. He twists the machete around, passing you the handle, “but a man’s gotta have a partner.”

masterlist | overwatch masterlist | art inspiration

if you like content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are greatly appreciated!!

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow2 #overwatch x reader #ow #overwatch x you #overwatch fic #roadhog #roadhog x reader #roadhog x you #roadhog Overwatch #mako rutledge #mako rutledge x you #mako rutledge x reader #x reader #x you #slasher! au #mako voorhees

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larvasmoon · 4 days ago

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Starry Nights - Chapter 1: The naughty list

Summary : Maven is an outcast, a clumsy Christmas elf, who lives high up in the North Pole's fir forest. She dwells in the shadow, shunned by all of her peers. Yet, when the Christmas preparations turn into a disaster, she has no choice but to partner up with her sworn enemy: Santa's secretary, Astarion Ancunín. Only the two of them seem to be able to see the mysterious creature that lurks near the factory, wreaking havoc in its wake. Pariting: Astarion/Original female character Rating: Explicit Content: Christmas AU, angst and fluff and smut, moody elf stuck in an endless party, Astarion as Santa's insufferable secretary, enemies to lovers

Read on Ao3

Like every morning, Maven is running late. She bursts out of her cottage home — hair still wet from her bath, pointy hat askew, green uniform crinkled and unbuttoned. She runs down the steps of her porch in a hurry, but the thin layer of frost on them sends her flying up in the air. The world spins, the content of her pockets with it, and she plummets into an ocean of smooth white snow.

“Damn this perpetual winter,” she groans, choking on a handful of little snowflakes, “Damn this nightmare of a job!”

She angrily secures her tool belt around her hips, buckles the straps of her backpack, and strides towards her enchanted sledge. The knot of the rope tied around it is stubborn, unyielding, and she wonders if the entire universe is conspiring to ruin her day. Well, to be fair, this day in particular is not worse than the last, and certainly not worse than the next. Most days begin and end the same way, with Maven either breaking something, offending someone, or hurting herself. The latter is indisputably the best out of the three options; it’s far easier to tend to a wound than it is to regain someone’s trust and affection.

Everybody knows about her, about the bad-tempered and unlucky elf who lives high up in the pine forest. She’s a local celebrity, if you will. Nothing ever goes her way, everything she does eventually turns into a disaster, and wherever she goes chaos follows. This is her curse — or at least, this is what all the christmas elves have decided to call it.

‘Butterfingered Maven,’‘Doomed daughter of the Aelfric family,’ ‘Krampus kin’: people have all sorts of horrible ways of calling her, and she has grown used to most of them.

Maven straddles the sledge with an exasperated sigh, tugging as hard as she can on the cable. After what feels like an eternity, the rope breaks with a snap, and the old heap of wood finally starts its spectacular descent towards the North Pole village.

“Damn Christmas and damn Santa!” she screams, holding on for dear life as it dangerously slaloms between the trunks. Everything is a blur of shimmering white around her, the cold wind lashes her face, and from time to time a red pixie pops out of a hollow log to shout at her.

“Stupid girl! Roadhog!” they shriek in a cloud of shimmering dust, “Slow down your darn toboggan, some people are trying to sleep here!”

For a few glorious minutes, she almost forgets who she is and where she’s headed. For a few seconds, she is just Maven Aelfric, a happy little girl once more, with nothing to apologize for and no forgiveness to earn.

But just as quickly, the dream fades and disappears.

The trees of the forest change; they grow taller, thicker, sparks of colors glimmering in the leaves and in the pine needles. Their foliage eerily twinkle in the dark undergrowth, like the blinking eyes of a maddened beast. Iridescent glass baubles dangle from branches, glittering candy canes swing on twigs, and dawn’s pale hues dull in the distance.

She takes a sharp turn to the right, silently riding along the first opulent houses of the village. North Pole’s Gate is a violent flash of neon red and green, a whirlwind of bright fairy lights that burn her eyes. Music echoes through the streets, day and night, night and day, and Maven doesn’t know how the people living there haven’t already lost their minds. That morning, it’s the same awful tune as the one they always play at work.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year — With the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you be of good cheer!” a voice croons in the crisp morning air, and she tightens her hold on the leather straps, pouring more magic in the wood below.

She slips past the road on which most of her coworkers are still walking towards the toy factory, grinning when she realises that she might actually make it on time. But the Christmas carol follows her still; the trees bend low to sing it in her ear.

“There'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, and caroling out in the snow!” The spruces hum and the sledge races, gliding at a terrific speed, almost lifting off the ground.

Far beyond, Santa Klaus corp. is a glorious stain of white, red and green in the blue hour. The tall gingerbread house is already open; smoke slowly curls out of its chimney.

It’s time to work, she has no choice. She’s bound by a contract to good old Santa, after all.

Maven is about to leave the wood behind her when she sees something in the corner of her vision.

Something that seems to be running after her.

A tall shadow leaping through the forest with unnatural speed.

A wolf? A bear? she thinks, taking her eyes off the road, probably not, it wouldn’t be that big.

Fear grips her heart when the glowing light of the factory illuminates the creature’s face. She sees horns, red piercing eyes, a long forked tongue, and a small imp perched on a massive shoulder.

In the panic, she lets go of the reins. The monster smiles at her and the sledge hits a rock, breaking in two.

And soon, she’s falling again, but it’s nothing like her little morning dive in the snow.

This one will actually hurt, she can already tell it will.

“There'll be scary ghost stories, and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago!” The voices continue to sing, muffled and strange.

This time, amongst them, she can hear another melody.

A warped call, a crowd endlessly chanting her name.

Maven, Maven, Maven, Maven, Maven —

When she wakes up, Maven is lying at the foot of a tall tree, splinters of wood scattered around her.

The cold scraps her lungs clean; she tastes iron on her tongue.

But the sky above is the color of a glass of strawberry milk — it’s still dawn, she’s still on time, she can still make it right.

She lifts herself up with a huff, ignoring the throbbing pain on the side of her head. Behind her, countless elves are already lining up in front of the entrance. There is no time to lose, so she leaves it all behind, nicely hidden beneath a pile of snow.

She doesn’t want to think about what happened, and about what it means.

Not yet.

Blood trickles down her temple while she waits with all the others, and she discreetly wipes it off with her sleeve. There’s a familiar shame in the pit of her stomach, the certainty that if someone stares at her for too long they’ll see through her lies and know the awful truth about her.

The one she’s not even sure of knowing.

Were they right all along? Has Maven always been cursed? A black sheep in a white flock — or worse, a wolf in disguise.

“Bah! Aelfric!” a harsh voice cuts through her thoughts, “Stop wasting my time, I don’t have all day, show me your arm.”

Maven jumps and blinks, quickly realising that she’s now at the front of the line, standing next to the doors of the factory like an idiot. Laezel glares at her, regal and intimidating in her red velvet uniform, golden buttons and officer’s epaulettes catching the light of the glittering garland above her head. Maven takes a clumsy step towards the guard; the githyanki’s hand visibly tightens around the hilt of the longsword resting at her hip.

“Ah yes, yes of course, sorry, here you go —” she mumbles, showing her the badge permanently tattooed on the thin skin of her forearm.

“Chk!” is the guard's only answer before she lowers the level beside her. Maven’s contract number appears above the gate, amidst a rain of bright stardust.

N° 261214

A number. That is all she is once she steps into her workplace, and sometimes, it’s almost comforting.

Maven heads towards the toy workshop without so much as a glance for the tall Christmas trees, the socks hanging near the blazing fire in the hearth, or the big pots of simmering hot chocolate. The fragrant fir wreaths on the walls are adorned with all sorts of juniper branches, pinecones, and berry spray. Each time she looks at them, she’s reminded of cold winter days with her mother, of long afternoons spent in the forest gathering branches and small red fruits in a wicker basket.

Shadowheart is already sitting in front of her workbench, pliers in hand as she works on the wheels of a small wooden car. She’s in a sour mood — that much is obvious — her brows are furrowed and her lips are but a thin discontent line. Maven dares not disturb her, she simply slides in her assigned corner to start working on the thirty presents she has to make before the end of the day.

She’s already completely engrossed in her task when she hears Shadowheart stand up, her stool crashing on the floor, her tool box clattering at her feet. “I’ve had enough! If they play another one of those songs, I’m blasting the entire place and ourselves with it!”

A few elves gasp in horror, wide-eyed and confused. Of course they’d be shocked, this is their entire world, the sole universe they’ve ever known. Their entire lives revolve around candy canes, decorated trees, and insufferable christmas carols! The only elf who hates Christmas just as much as Maven does is Shadowheart. She has never been bold enough to ask her why she does though; she has every reason to believe it is not a joyous story.

You’re not like the others, she thought the first time she saw her, with her long black hair and her angry steel blue eyes, you hate it here, don’t you?

“That’s fine by me,” Maven chuckles, sewing a pair of fragile translucent wings on the back of a fairy doll, “You’d do us all a favor.”

Shadowheart looks down at her, chest heaving, braid coming undone.

“But in the meantime,”—she bends over to place a little wooden box in front of her — “use this.”

“What is that?”

“Earplugs. I have a spare pair, no need to thank me.”

“No,” she says, motioning towards Maven’s brow, right above the old scars on her left cheek, “I meant this, on your forehead.”

Maven blushes, hastily covering the bruise under her choppy dark green bangs. She almost forgot about the incident in the forest, about the monster, and about the wound…

“It’s nothing, you know me, clumsy as ever! I slipped on the steps of the porch this morning,” she blurts out, trying to hide the fear in her voice behind a small laugh.

But Shadowheart doesn’t believe her, she knows Maven a little too well. It’s a blessing and a curse, because she has a few secrets she’d like to keep to herself.

“What happened, Mav?” she asks, laying a gloved hand on her arm.

She looks at her in silence, and something in Maven almost breaks. A door that has long been closed, a keyless lock that she doesn’t trust anyone else to open — not even her friend.

Before she can answer, a familiar chime echoes through the entire building.

Shit… Is it already that time of the month again?

“Dear Christmas elves, please gather in the foyer. The names of the best employees of the month are about to be revealed!”

An ocean of ecstatic elves rushes through the narrow corridors; they squeal and they laugh as they run towards the grand hall. They celebrate Christmas Eve every year in this wide room — dancing and eating under the tall chandeliers, gifting each other little trinkets at the feet of the tallest tree of the entire realm, kissing under the mistletoe….

But once a month, it’s also the place in which Santa simultaneously rewards a handful of his workers and punishes the rest of them.

The most hardworking of the elves are given new uniforms, as well as a big golden snowflake medal to wear on the front of their pristine coats. They are admired amongst their peers, earning a respect that never quite fades no matter how many years go by.

Those who fail to produce enough toys, however, face a far less alluring fate… The entirety of North Pole shuns them, they are encouraged to work some extra hours at night by the management, and — to add insult to injury — they are kindly asked to take a considerable wage cut.

Maven has been part of the latter group for the past years, and this Christmas is no different. Shadowheart sighs in relief somewhere behind her. She’s in neither of the two, she’s right in the middle, in the comfortable middle ground of ‘normality.’

“If my salary gets any lower than this, I’ll be working for free,” Maven grumbles, eyes fixed on Beatrix Birchborn and Rue Littebell, Santa’s new favorite employees. The girls’ long red hair glimmer like two crowns of fire when they bend down to receive their prizes, and Maven can’t help but envy them a little.

“Oh my… Are you on the naughty list again, darling?” someone whispers in her ear and her entire body grows tense as a bow.

Astarion Ancunín, Santa’s insufferable secretary, is standing right beside her.

In the soft glow of the candles, he looks as if he was molded out of clay by Santa himself. White curls sculpted out of morning’s first snow, skin smooth like polished spruce wood, red eyes crafted out of the same glass as the bulbs in the vast tree behind him — he is Christmas incarnate, and this place’s finest creation.

But everything that is beautiful is also dangerous, poisonous like the Amanita mushrooms that grow at the feet of the white firs.

And for that reason, Astarion is the most dangerous out of all the elves of the Christmas realm, and the one Maven should be the most wary of.

Tonight, he looks especially magnificent. He is wearing a perfectly tailored red velvet two piece suit, lined with bright green silk. The bow of his white lavallière shirt cascades down his chest like a river of melting snow, and on his collar shines a little snowflake brooch. He must have won it many years ago, on a night like this one, or so Maven imagines. It’s her first time seeing him wear glasses though, and she wonders if he walked straight out of his office when the announcement rang through the factory. They’re small and round, delicately perched on top of his Grecian nose. She rather likes them, they make him look a little more… stern.

Maven hates to admit it, but her heart always races a little when she’s around him. It’s a daily inconvenience, something that happens far more often than she’d like… She’s eating lunch at the refectory, or taking a short break in the fir plantations, and all of a sudden, he’s here! And each time, she can’t really tell why he ventured out of the factory’s headquarters to find her in the first place. Maven might be too much of a bungle to be crowned ‘employee of the month,’ but she has observed Astarion for long enough to know a thing or two about him — things he probably wouldn’t like her to know. He’s calculating, ambitious, and each of his actions always serves a purpose…So naturally, it didn’t take her long for her to figure out that he wants something from her.

But what could she possibly give him? Her, North Pole’s favorite outcast.

“Don’t act like this comes as a surprise to you; you’re the one who wrote that list,” she says, a little more bitterly than intended.

“You’re sweet darling, but there are thousands of elves in this factory, do you truly think I would know all of that by heart?” he huffs, straightening his jacket, “Perhaps, I ought to remind you that I’m just the hand that holds the quill, nothing more.”

Maven doesn’t answer, she simply stares at the bottom of the list plastered on the wall. There’s something even more humiliating about the fact that Astarion put her badge number there himself — knowingly or unknowingly. She’s drowning in an ocean of dark thoughts when she feels his fingers pushing her hair away from her brow, feeling the bruise on her temple. And she flinches, like some kind of wild animal that is not used to being touched so gently.

Astarion doesn’t ask her how she hurt herself, he simply stares at it with a strange look in his eyes. It’s not a kind or a soft expression though, and soon, a familiar smirk forms on his face.

“Don’t look so defeated. I think I prefer you naughty anyway, it suits you better.”

Is that a compliment or an insult? Her stupid body doesn’t wait for her mind to settle on either before blushing.

“Don’t you have something else to do? Somewhere else to be? I hear you’re pretty busy this time of year,” she says as she starts walking away, quickly heading back towards the toy workshop. “I myself have no time to spare, so if you’ll excuse me…”

His voice follows her through the long corridors, stubborn and haunting. “Nothing that demands my immediate attention, no.”

“How unfortunate.”

She bursts inside of the atelier with Astarion on her heels, and her heart sinks when she realises that Shadowheart is not there. It was a bad idea to leave the hall, this is even worse. The last thing she wants at the moment is to have a little tête à tête with Santa’s secretary…

Maven has no choice but to pretend he is not there. She puts her gloves on, sits down and throws the fairy doll she finished earlier in the jute bag by her feet. Persistent as ever, Astarion draws close again. He takes a few graceful steps and leans on her workbench, looming over her with bright ruby eyes.

“You need to dream big, dear,” he sighs, carefully inspecting one of her little screwdrivers. “Do you want to spend your entire life crafting silly gifts? Don’t you want to be the one opening up presents? I started out like you, you know — at the very bottom of the ladder, in that very workshop — but I managed to climb my way up to the top.”

“Why do you care? None of my dreams include anything that could be placed under the christmas tree anyway, nothing that could be wrapped in a red little bow.”

He moves to stand in front of the tall windows of the workshop, the ones that face the reindeers’ enclosure. Night is already falling and the fairy lights on the fences light up, one by one, like stars in the black skies.

“I’m sure Halsin over there would gladly step into a big box and wait for you to unwrap him on Christmas Eve,” he chuckles, and Maven turns red as a beetroot.

Halsin Silverbough, Santa’s hostler, has always been kind to her. She likes that he smells like the forest and the warm fur of the reindeers he takes care of, not like the heady mixture of cinnamon and cloves that constantly floats around the other elves. Last year, during the Christmas party, he’s the only one who talked and danced with her. But Maven doesn’t seen him as anything more than a friend — a shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear, at best.

“You know he fancies you, right?” Astarion says, but it’s almost like he’s asking her a question, waiting for her to either confirm or deny, “He’s always had a taste for the singular and the untamed.”

A ridiculous and incongruous thought crosses her mind.

Is he jealous? a small incredulous voice asks in her head, No, no, it cannot be. People like him are not jealous, they have all they could ever ask for and… I couldn’t possibly be what he wants.

“Tempting but no, thank you.”

“Don’t be so picky, darling,” — he slumps down a leather armchair near the fireplace, crossed legs elegantly slung over one of the armrests — “One has to seize the opportunities when they arise! Maybe this is the reason why your name is never at the top of that cursed list. That little head of yours is always so full of unnecessary thoughts. Unwinding would help to boost your production rate.”

Astarion certainly ‘unwinds’ a lot in his free time. Over the years, she has watched him leave the factory with an endless parade of lovers. It’s never the same face or the same name, but his paramours are always pretty. And on some nights, before entering the forest, Maven turns around to look at him and at the elf who gets to walk him home, foolishly hoping that he will choose her one day.

You don’t belong there, she finds herself thinking each time it happens, beasts lay on the soft moss of woodlands, not in townhouses’ plush beds.

“I don’t need any of that, what I need is to work in peace, Mister Ancunín,” she finally answers, stitching a pair of glassy eyes on the small face of a stuffed bear. “Would you please leave me alone now? I have much to do.”

For a little while, he remains uncharacteristically silent, quietly poised over the cushions like a sleepy cat. The leather creaks beneath him when he finally rises to his feet, and Maven is almost sure she hears him retreat towards the door. But, when she looks away from her handiwork, he’s right beside her stool again, looking down at her with an odd glint in his red eyes.

“If Halsin is not to your liking, maybe I could help you instead,” he whispers, voice low and suave like the wind blowing through the trees of the pine forest that surrounds her home. “In fact, I think we could help each other, in more ways than one, darling.”

At first, she isn’t sure she heard him right; it’s the type of thing she should only hear him say in dreams. The needle slips from her fingers, and her body freezes. She knows it’s not right, she knows it can’t be true— she’s Maven Aelfric, good things never come her way.

So, what’s the catch? What kind of ugly trick is the universe playing on her?

Right then and there, Shadowheart barges into the atelier, coming back from the foyer with two small apple turnovers in hand. She’s with Karlach, one of the mechanics in charge of taking care of Santa’s sleigh, and she can vaguely hear them arguing about the type of polish she’ll need to use on its footboards before Christmas Eve.

“Mav! I got you something sweet to eat, I thought it would cheer you up—” she calls out before stopping in her tracks, almost dropping the little viennoiseries to the ground.

“Oh gods, look at the time! I’m awfully late!” Astarion giggles, straightening up to fetch a sparkly pocket watch from his jacket. “I must go now, my dear! I’d love to stay but I have a tedious evening ahead of me. Countless letters to open and Santa’s sacks to prepare, you know how it gets! But what a pleasant little conversation this was…”

Shadowheart is still petrified, pale as a ghost, when he walks past her and swiftly exits the room. Karlach on the other hand, seems very amused by the whole situation, barely managing to contain her laugh. It must be both funny and dreadful to see someone like Astarion Ancunín close to a girl like Maven. In fact, the whole endeavor has the potential of becoming the ‘joke of the year’ if anyone in the factory gets wind of what happened.

“And darling?” Astarion says with his back to her, his hand idly waving goodbye as he walks down the corridor, “Smile, will you? You know what the song says, it’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

There’s a few seconds of silence before the tiefling wheezes, laughing so hard that she struggles to catch her breath. “Did you see his face? I haven’t seen him so panicked since the day he fell on his ass in front of everyone at the village’s skating rink.”

“Pretentious arsehole,” Maven mumbles under her breath, eyes still fixed on his back at the other end of the hallway.

“At least, stop ogling him while you say that, soldier,” Karlach says, putting a muscular arm around her shoulders, “I know his bum looks glorious in his fancy clothes, but come on!”

The tips of Maven’s ears burn, probably as red as the rest of her. “I have done no such thing!”

“Yes yes, I’ve caught you with your hand in the cookie jar more than once,” the tiefling laughs, wiping the corner of her amber eyes, “I don’t blame you though. That man is a prick, but he’s gorgeous.”

“What was he doing here?” Shadowheart finally asks, slightly disgusted, as she hands her one of the little cakes.

But once again, Maven doesn’t know the answer to that question. She still hasn’t figured out what sort of game he is playing and why he is playing it—

“I’m not sure, some kind of problem with Halsin and the reindeers’ enclosure,” she lies, not looking either of them in the eyes.

Tag list : @obsessedwhyyes @zozoparsnips @karinamay

Don't hesitate to send me a message if you'd like to be added on the tag list! ❤️

Happy holidays everyone and see you soon for the next one!

#christmas au #christmas fic #bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female oc #astarion ancunin #astarion fic #astarion fanfiction #Astarion is santa's secretary

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r00kaline · 9 months ago

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How would Overwatch characters have you saved in their phone?

Tanks:

*Roadhog- Probably first name basis when it comes to contact info, probably in big ass bold letters so he would see it better though.

*Reinhardt- Saves people as numbers in his phone, so you'd probably be the number of the next contact.

*Orisa- Your callsign with maybe ":)" at the end depending on how close you are.

*Sigma- Definitely a weird nickname of your actual name, something that he made up and went with, it's probably not even close to your actual name.

*Doomfist- The incorrect spelling of your name.

*Zarya- Russian nickname on what she thinks about you (Slavics understand what I mean).

*Junker Queen- Something about your physical traits which helps her identify who you are.

*Rammatra- Also probably just your name.

*Mauga- Emoji as your contact name.

Attackers:

*Genji- Your name spelled in Japanese to help him read it.

*Torbjorn- Either "Kid #whatever" or no name at all.

*Ashe- Probably a southern nickname like "Chick" or "That One".

*Echo- Saved as your real name with the initial at the end.

*Hanzo- Pretty much the same as Genji but your callsign.

*Junkrat- Maybe "Sheila" or like "The Special One", he has the weirdest contact names for people that make no sense to anyone but him.

*Mei- Your social media username.

*Pharah- Your full legal name with the initials and what not.

*Reaper- No contact name either, just a profile picture.

*Soldier 76- The country of your home flag.

*Sombra- "Amiga/o" and than your name.

*Symmetra- Your callsign with two emojis that she thinks match you.

*Tracer- A short nickname of your name in all caps and even an exclamation point.

*Widowmaker- Your name in her contacts is based off the color of your hair, somehow, it's a bit too accurate too. It can also be based off of a little detail about u like a specific spot with a birthmark or something.

Supports:

*Briggite- "The" and then how she views or thinks of you.

*Moira- "Little girl/boy" or smth like that.

*Zenyatta- Also your full name but spelled in weird ass initials.

*Ana- Probably a nickname she has for you, very short one but only uses it on contacts.

*Baptiste- An emoji that does not match your name whatsoever.

*Lucio- Your callsign with a smiley face.

*Mercy- Probably "Mein Freund" followed up with your name.

*Kiriko- An emoji of your spirit animal.

*Lifeweaver- Something that would correlate with your special ability so he can remember you easily.

Please request something in the comments with COD, OV2, or TF2, I am on a block and am currently trying to wrap up one smut for a friend that I'll post.

#overwatch #headcanon #overwatch 2 #ow2 #x reader

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divizin · 7 months ago

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HI GUYS!!!

————

im divizin and i’ve been reading fanfic + writing my own for like 7 years now but ive finally decided to go public and start taking requests!! i’ve always admired people with public writing blogs :3 these are the fandoms + characters i write for!!

[note: i may occasionally ocpost + i mainly (basically exclusively) write male characters + i am def searching for moots!!!]

————

ATSV

•Miguel

•Hobie

•Peter B. Parker

COD

•Ghost

•Soap

•Price

AVATAR

•Jake

•Quaritch

DBH

•Connor

•Ralph

•Hank

FNAF

•William Afton

•Henry Emily

OW2

•Junkrat

•Roadhog

•Reaper

•Soldier 76

•Reinhardt

•Lifeweaver

•Genji

•Hanzo

————

I WILL WRITE:

Smut, Angst, Whump, Fluff, Kink

I WILL NOT WRITE:

NSFW content featuring characters who are minors, Gore for the intent of arousal, Incest, Reqs falling under racial stereotypes, and most other basic DNI criteria. :]

————

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

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madamsnape921 · 22 days ago

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Chained Desires

Pairing: Roadhog x female reader

Note: smut, no YN used

WC: 598

Winter Bingo square: New Years Resolution

Taglist: @storiesofsvu

The weight of the hook around your neck is a constant reminder of your submission, connected to a cold, unyielding chain that sends shivers down your spine. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'll do better," you say with a trembling voice.

SWAT. A large hand lands forcefully on your left ass cheek and then again on the right. The thin jeans covering your bottom offer little protection from the impact, but it's not the stinging pain that bothers you - it's the way the hook jerks and tugs at your neck as a result of the hits.

Why am I outside in the snow without a shirt? You think, straining against the restraints on your neck and back. Your hands feel numb under the weight pressing down on them.

"What did you do this time, piglet?" Roadhog's voice growls through his mask.

"I forgot to write in my gratitude journal and drink water," you sigh.

Roadhog grins behind his mask as he peels off your jeans, revealing your bare, round ass to the moonlight. He grabs onto the chain harness and pulls it tight, causing strain in your neck. Then, he loosens his grip and slowly lays the chain across your spine, taking care to wrap it around your waist and let it dangle over your exposed bottom.

"You want it, don't you? You little runt," Roadhog taunts as he walks behind you and pulls on the chain, bringing you closer to him. With one swift motion, he lifts you up off the ground and sets you back down.

"Piglet plaything," Roadhog laughs maniacally.

He lines himself up with your holes once again. In one smooth movement, he slides into you.

"Mmm...you're so warm," he groans.

"Daddy...it's so cold out here. Can we please go inside?" you plead.

Roadhog just laughs mechanically as he slowly begins to thrust into you.

"That's not funny, Daddy," you moan. "I'm cold and...oh fuck...I need you deeper inside me. Please..."

"Shhh, Piglet," Roadhog whispers as he fully hilted inside of you. As he moves with a slow and steady pace, your body gives in to him. You collapse onto the grass, supported by your midsection as Roadhog holds onto the harness that keeps you up. Feeling his cock twitch inside of you, you can't help but let out a satisfied moan as he breeds you before gently lowering you to the ground.

As Roadhog pulls out, you can feel his hot cum leaking out of you. "Oh, Daddy, I can feel it running down my legs," you whimper.

Roadhog grins and spits on your back, causing you to shudder at the cold contact. He raises his hand again and brings it down hard on both of your cheeks.

"You enjoy that feeling, don't you?" he growls.

You nod, unable to deny the pleasure-pain mix that courses through your body. "Yes, Daddy," you say softly.

He spanks you again, harder this time, and then reaches between your legs to rub gently at your entrance. Your whole body quivers as he spreads his cum around inside of you.

"That's my good piglet," he coos. "Now let's go inside where it's nice and warm...and where we can do this again, but this time with more toys."

As Roadhog leads you back inside, you can't help but feel a sense of relief at the warmth and safety that awaits you. But there's also anticipation, excitement even, as you imagine what kind of toys he might have in store for you. You shiver, not just from the cold, but from the thrill of the unknown.

#kattsholidaybingo2024 #roadhog x reader #roadhog #roadhog fanfic #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch #ovw #ovw2 #mako rutledge

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junkratsjunkertown · 1 year ago

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hi could you maybe write junker queen fluffy smut with a chubby s/o? i liked your poly headcannons with her and rat im just not super into him lol. thanks in advance wether you accept or not!

You’re welcome and I hope you like it.

I Love You No Matter What

Junker Queen x Chubby! Reader

TW: Mentions of weight

Odessa was just lounging in her throne when you walked in looking like you’ve been crying. She sees you and hurries to your side. She looks both panicked and angry.

“Who made you cry, My Bunny? I’ll hunt them down and hurt them.”

You slightly smile at her nickname for you.

“No one made me cry. I was just feeling a little insecure about my body.”

She kisses your soft lips and she places a hand on your plump butt. She parts from the kiss

“Bunny, if you’re feeling insecure please let me know. I know that’s hard.”

You two smile at each other and totally forget that her hand is on your butt. That’s until someone interrupts.

“Oh. Um. Should I leave you two alone?”

Odessa sighs as she let’s go if you.

“What is it?”

“Well, we have an update on the whereabouts of Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes and Mako “Roadhog” Rutledge. But we can wait until you’re ready, my queen.”

“Just give me ten minutes and I’ll meet cha in the meeting room.”

The other person bows and leaves. Odessa holds you again.

“Now, where we’re we?”

“Well your hands were on my butt and you were making my insecurities fade away.”

“Ah, yes! My sweet bunny. You will always look amazing to me. And if anyone tells you otherwise I’ll kick em out.”

You chuckle.

“Odessa, could we cuddle until you have to go to that meeting?”

“Of course my bunny. Anything for you.”

She gives your butt a quick squeeze and you two cuddle until the meeting. Unfortunately you two fell asleep and missed the meeting, but no one was going to say anything about it.

#overwatch x reader #junker queen x reader #queen of junkertown #junker queen x reader fluff #overwatch x reader fluff

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acradelius · 4 months ago

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Butcher Mako smut where the reader is a witch who summons Mako to form a pact where he obeys every command of the reader?

"Revenge-! It Can Wait, Actually."

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairing: Butcher! Roadhog ("Mako Rutledge") x Gender Neutral! Witch! Reader

Rating: Lemon [🟡] - (NSFW!)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: Minors Do Not Interact With (MDNI), Overwatch Alternate Universe, Butcher! Roadhog, Witch! Reader, Gender Neutral! Reader, They/Them Pronouns Used For Reader, "Burn The Witch/Kill The Witch" Similar Trope, (Accidental) Aphrodisiac Usage - One Sided, Consent Is Present Despite (Y/N) And Roadhog's "Relationship", Fingering - Recieving! Reader, Mentions Of Multiple Orgasms

Word Count: 2,189 Words

Taglist: @masterofpuns

Indignation.

Outrage.

Resentment.

Fury.

Irritation.

Five different words, yet all having similar definitions.

Similar connections to each other.

Yet, it wasn’t any of those words or any other similar words that could be conjured up from the depths of (Y/N)’s mind to even begin describing the anger that was bubbling up within them.

It thrummed within their veins.

It roared throughout their mind.

It vibrated throughout their being.

Times have changed, therefore, shouldn’t the people have changed as well? Apparently not so for those that reside within the nearby village, only being some miles away from where that small and cozy cottage of (Y/N)’s was located within the surrounding forest. It seemed that after all these years of assisting the villagers with various tasks and activities, some as simple as enchanting some plants to grow more quickly to some as extraneous as bringing someone back to health from the brink of death, none of that mattered. How there had been plenty of opportunities for the Witch to essentially take advantage and cause havoc amongst the villagers, but yet had not, and assisted in what they thought was good for everyone. Despite the good deeds, (Y/N) was well aware that there were still suspicions from the village elders about their intentions.

Typical elder type of mindset, or at least, (Y/N) had thought that the suspicions were only amongst the elders.

The thick, choking black smoke could be seen billowing from the treetops of the forest from some miles away from the general location of where the village and (Y/N)’s was at. At first, they hadn’t really thought anything about it. There were some individuals within the village that were known of being “fire starters”, or possibly it was that the village was having some sort of celebration or feast that required a lot of wood burning. Yet, as (Y/N) continues to approach the location of their beloved cottage, it seems to dawn on them that the location of the fire is indeed not coming from the village, but from their cottage itself! Considering that they essentially were carrying a sack from their most recent travels, it takes some minutes to finally make it back.

Upon reaching the crumbling, burning cottage the elders of the village have formed a semicircle around the cottage, the rest of the townsfolk gathered around behind them, some holding lit torches. While there might have been some villagers that had objected or even refused to participate in burning (Y/N)’s cottage down, (Y/N) viewing each and every one of them as guilty of the crime. Them just standing there watching, watching as (Y/N)’s home and the place where they had their life’s work was now destroyed, left to scatter in the wind as ashes.

“After everything I have done for not only those of you individually, but as a village as a whole, this is how the lot of you proceed to show your appreciation and thanks?!” There’s an obvious combination of rage, betrayal, and devastation within their tone of voice, alongside the features of hands being clenched into fists, eyebrows are furrowed, and there’s a frown upon their lips. “This is an act of treachery!”

“You’re quite mistaken,” Though their attention seems to be more diverted towards the more prominent danger at hand, the elders are completely aware of the angered Witch standing some feet away. It’s the high elder of the village that begins to speak in response to the displeased Witch. “We are simply cleaning this village from the dangerous, immoral establishment and influence that you have bestowed.” It might’ve been just the anger clouding her mind or the trick of the light as the flames continue to burn, (Y/N) swears that they could see a smirk upon the high elder’s lips.

“..Remember this, and remember this quite well then..”

A momentary pause, a moment to briefly recollect thoughts to prevent oneself from outbursting and bringing the whole village to its knees.

At least, not yet.

“I will be back to exact my revenge!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some might address to the Witch that the way they are attempting to handle the situation of the village’s betrayal was simply as “being petty” or even be described as “being melodramatic”. Yet, (Y/N) didn’t necessarily care about others' opinions on their situation and how they were going to handle it. All that mattered to them was that they were so close to completing the final steps before launching their assault. It hadn’t taken long to come across a cave that was mostly hidden by the dense forest surrounding it, which made a comfortable and suitable home for the time being. It was enough to offer a temporary place to work to figure out the best means of attack, but also to house not only the Witch, but the brute of the underworldly being that they had summoned to assist them as well.

“I have listened to your story, your tragedy, Witch,” He speaks, his voice deep and gravely, glowing yellow eyes seemingly piercing into the soul of the Witch upon their knees in front of him, the Butcher only slightly amused that someone such as the Witch themself would have summoned him for such purposes, but it hadn’t been the first time. “While I am intrigued, you have yet to offer anything in exchange for my temporary loyalty for you and your objective.” There happens to be a moment of silence that begins to settle within the environment as the Witch begins to think. It had been true, never the doubt, they had presented their story to the Butcher, asking for his assistance, but hadn’t necessarily offered anything in return. The Butcher was definitely not a being to do such a task without payment of course.

“As for payment.. I will offer the souls of all of the villagers.. Child, Adult, Elderly.. I will then allow you to take my soul as well, and then I will be of your servitude for the remainder of time.”

Will it be unpleasant to essentially be a slave to the Butcher for the remainder of their existence? Who knows? Maybe he will be somewhat generous to the Witch due to their offer of a bundle of souls to torture or feast upon. The thoughts were floating amongst (Y/N)’s mind, their gaze slowly moving from the alchemy table in front of them to the Butcher who sat there silently staring into the flames of the small campfire, all while (Y/N)’s hands were still working with the ingredients of the current potion. How could he just sit there and stare into the fire the whole time? Wasn’t he unamused about it? Bored of just sitting there and waiting? Eventually they return their attention back to the potion at hand, though an eyebrow raises at the color of the potion itself, it being something similar to a fuchsia pink. Definitely not the color of the strength potion that the Witch thought it would’ve been, but they simply shrug their shoulders and then begin to drink the potion, not stopping until it was completely gone.

Throughout the time to allow the potion to course throughout their system to test the full effect, the Witch decides to complete some tasks within the cave, mostly tidying up things and then prepping some meals. Eventually there happens to be a moment that (Y/N) finds themself standing still, trying to decipher the strange, stirring feeling within them. It’s then that they begin addressing the symptoms that begin becoming more apparent within them. How the Witch had come to realize that their body temperature was increasing significantly, followed by the increasing pace of their heartbeat and breathing, certain body parts becoming more sensitive than typically normal and other parts becoming sensitive when they typically weren’t.

Slowly, but surely, the pieces of the puzzle begin to come together, and there’s a loud audible gasp that escapes past their lips, scurrying throughout the cave to make their way back to their workbench. Eyes frantically moving across the ingredients that had been used for the potion, and then eventually stopping and staring whenever (Y/N) comes across that specific one.

Rose petals.

A strong ingredient it is, and when handled or portioned incorrectly it can lead to some dire consequences.

The flustered blush that covered their face was now descending down their neck as they came to realize their mistake. It wasn’t a super strength potion that they had made, but in fact it had been an aphrodisiac. One of the most dangerous potions of all time if not handled carefully, such as this moment right now. Knowing their mistake it’s now that they have to suffer the consequences, but was there actually anything that could resolve this increasing, almost agonizing arousal that was continuously building up within them? Fingers would be like just trying to ignore an internal itch, and attempting to use inanimate objects with the assistance of magic would just cause their energy to deplete significantly, and (Y/N) would probably still be as horny as ever. Yet, that would leave one other option..

“Butcher,” While (Y/N)’s voice might have been firm for the most part, there was that noticeable wavering to it, watching as the Butcher’s gaze had finally turned away from the flickering flames of the fire and over the the with, letting out a snort of sorts. “I’m in need of some.. assistance.. Dire assistance, if I must state.” What the Witch hadn’t expected was for the Butcher to hobble himself to be standing, making his way over towards the large, makeshift bed of his that had been made of various furs. While raising an eyebrow in slight confusion, the Butcher proceeds to speak before (Y/N) could question his action. “I had been wondering how long it was going to take you to notice that you had messed up, now get over here so we can get through this.”

He had been watching them make this potion the entire time? If that was the case then why didn’t he say something beforehand? Why did he wait until after- (Y/N)’s thoughts are interrupted by an impatient grunt from the Butcher once again, which causes (Y/N) to hastily make way over to his bed, watching as he plops himself down and pats his lap. There’s some slight grimace from the remaining gunk upon his apron, but the need to be satisfied comes at a much higher regard at the moment. Legs now being spread across his lap, there’s a soft sigh of relief as the Butcher moves the robes to the side and ripped away their underwear, a few of his fingers beginning the job by teasingly brush against (Y/N)’s skin and then slowly dipping them inside, causing (Y/N) to whine out. A slow and steady pace at first, the Butcher is smarter than any other that would just go all the way, a rough and manhandling pace.

Time definitely becomes a blur, moreso becomes something that’s forgotten, as the pleasure slowly but surely takes over the Witch’s mind. How long had it been since the Butcher had first slipped a finger inside of them? Who cares? All that mattered at that moment was how full they were feeling as one finger had now turned into three, proceeding to stretch out the Witch’s clenching hole, the fluids from previous, intense orgasms now coating their thighs, the Butcher’s fingers and his apron as well. Another one begins to creep up on them as that internal coiling sensation begins to tighten, body trembling tremendously while bucking their hips to chase that euphoric high until it comes crashing down upon the Witch. With a loud cry of the Butcher’s name escaping past their lips the Witch’s back arches to lift themself within the air before collapsing back against the Butcher’s large frame. Head bobbing from the fuzzy, lightheadedness of their orgasm once again racking their brain and preventing them from making any logical decisions at the moment. Yet, they’re still somewhat aware of themself as once the Butcher had begun to slowly thrust his fingers once again they proceed to tightly grip at his forearm, shaking their head.

“B-Butcher~ N-Need a break, please~”

“Are you so sure about that?” There’s a gentle chuckle that leaves him as he glances down to look at the pleasure ridden, and probably exhausted Witch resting against that. It was more of a teasing question, but he knows that while he could go for much longer even though he was only using his fingers, trying to ignore the growing erection that was beginning to press against the Witch’s back, the Witch would need to take a break more often to regain their energy. “You’ve only had maybe.. seven.. orgasms now?”

A cheeky laugh of amusement escapes the Witch’s lips at the teasing questions, leaning their head back against the Butcher’s chest and closing their eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, revenge upon the village could wait just a little longer.

#requests?! thank you<3 #x reader #lemon rating #overwatch roadhog #roadhog overwatch #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #mako x reader #mako rutledge #roadhog x reader #roadhog smut #x reader smut

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